


My Mark on You

by NB_Cecil



Series: Spones [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bathrooms, Biting, Bones gets his reward eventually, Bottom Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Canon-Typical Grumbling from McCoy, Consensual Kink, Denial Kink, Established Relationship, Established Spones, Hand Jobs, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Living Artwork Kink, M/M, MUA Spock, Makeup, Makeup Kink, Makeup removal, Mirrors, Morning Routines, Objectification Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sensual Play, Sensuality, Spock is a tease, Spock’s Canon Makeup Looks, Teasing, Top Spock, leaving marks, lipstick kink, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: A bit of fluffy domestic slash while Spones do their morning routine.UPDATE:I added a second chapter, seeing as Bones has waited so patiently for his reward :)Prompt fill:Bones has lipstick on his dick, in the exact shade of candy floss pink Spock likes to wear.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Spones [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563289
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletSmith/gifts), [orchidlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidlocked/gifts).



Spock applied the finishing touches of candy floss pink lipstick to his cupid’s bow and set the tube on the counter. He picked up a brush and swiped away a few errant grains of blue eyeshadow powder from his right cheek and gave his reflection a slow nod of approval. He was about to turn his attention to tidying his tools when the door to the shower stall slid open and Leonard McCoy stepped out, securing a towel around his waist as he did so. 

“That pink really suits you.” McCoy gave Spock a broad grin as he made for the bathroom door.

“Why, thank you,” Spock made a grab for the human, wrapping his arms round the doctor’s torso and gently herded him toward the sink, positioning him so that he would have a good view of himself and Spock in the mirror as Spock nuzzled his face into McCoy’s neck. “I’m gratified—,” He paused to press a kiss to the human’s neck, just below his left ear, “—that you appreciate my makeup choices.”

“Oh, I do,” McCoy beamed at their reflection in the mirror. “You have a most distinctive style—Ah!” He exclaimed, catching sight of the bright pink imprint Spock’s lips had left behind on his skin. “I can’t walk into sickbay with your marks all over me!” McCoy scrubbed with his hand at the offending pink smear and tried to wriggle free of Spock’s grasp.

“Can’t you?” Spock murmured, tightening his grip on the other. 

“There’s enough gossip on the _Enterprise_ as it is.”

“Yes.” Spock slid a hand down over McCoy’s belly, long fingers loosening the towel around his waist. “It seems everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

Any further protestation from McCoy was cut off with a sharp _yelp_ as Spock’s teeth clamped down on a sensitive spot on his shoulder, and hot vulcan fingers closed around his cock. The towel fell to the floor and Spock kicked it aside with his toe as he gave the human a few quick strokes, bringing him to a half-hard state, his teeth continuing to worry at McCoy’s shoulder. 

“Dammit, Spock,” McCoy groaned, hips bucking involuntarily into the other’s hand.

Spock drew back to admire his handiwork on McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy shivered as Spock traced the indentations left by his teeth with the tip of a finger.

“Leonard,” Spock purred, “I believe _my marks all over you_ , as you put it, suit you very well.”

“Spock, my shift starts in fifteen minutes,” McCoy protested.

“And you shan’t be late.” Spock reached for the lipstick, still out on the counter, uncapped it and wound the lurid pink, waxy cosmetic out of its tube. He grasped McCoy’s cock again and pressed the lipstick to the base. “But you shall...” Spock paused in his speech while he dragged the lipstick down the shaft, leaving a matte pink stripe terminating at the end of McCoy’s foreskin, “...wear my mark on you while you work.” 

McCoy whimpered, his breaths growing ragged. Carefully positioning his hand so as not to smudge the lipstick, Spock gave him several more strokes, bringing him to full hardness, then released his hold on the human, pushing him gently toward the bathroom door. “You’d better get dressed.” He said.

“Dammit.” McCoy cursed, “And damn _you_.”

“Leonard?” Spock called, as McCoy stepped into the bedroom, “If my mark is still intact when you finish your shift, there will be a reward for you.”

“Green-blooded sadist.” McCoy grumbled as he _carefully_ pulled on his underpants.


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately, it was a quiet day in sickbay. McCoy moved with a careful gait from office to biobed to dispensary, trying his best to avoid smudging Spock’s mark on his cock. On his first trip to the restroom, after his mid-morning coffee, he held himself between thumb and forefinger as he peed, fingers either side of the bright pink stripe down the centre of his cock. A quick inspection during his second restroom break, at around the halfway point of his shift, revealed tiny blobs of lipstick clinging to his pubic hair, a smudge in the crease where his left thigh met his groin, and a pink imprint in the gusset of his pants. The stripe down his cock was still visible, if somewhat blurred. He tucked himself away before thoughts of what Spock might have in mind for him got him hard enough to interfere with his duties. On his final bathroom break he cursed aloud when, in his hurry to pee, wash his hands and get back to the gaggle of crew who had wandered into sickbay complaining of various minor ailments 20 minutes before the end of his shift, he smeared a vivid smudge across the front of his uniform trousers. He scrubbed at the stain with his fingers, but it remained stubborn and lurid on the dark fabric. Grumbling to himself about “demanding, high-maintenance aliens”, he yanked the front of his medical tunic down in the vain hope of concealing the stain, and headed back to his patients.

As soon as he finished the hand-over with Doctor M’Benga at the end of his shift, McCoy hurried to Spock’s quarters. He rang the chime and the ship’s computer answered as the door slid open. 

“ _Doctor McCoy, please remove your clothes and stand on the dais._ ”

McCoy glanced around the—thankfully empty—corridor and slipped through the door. It sighed closed behind him. 

“Spock?” He called. There was no answer. He shrugged, sat down on the sofa and pulled off his boots. 

“ _Doctor McCoy, please remove your clothes and stand on the dais_ ,” the computer repeated.

“Alright, I’m getting there,” McCoy grumbled. He undressed quickly and stepped onto the low wooden platform occupying the space where the coffee table usually sat. Feeling self-conscious, he shuffled his feet and fretted about where to put his hands, the ship’s constant quiet thrumming dominating the otherwise silent room. Presumably, Spock would return soon, and he wanted to be ready for whatever the vulcan had planned for him. After a minute of fidgeting he settled in his customary stance with his hands clasped behind his back, standing half-turned toward the door, acutely aware of his tendency to slouch.

McCoy didn’t have long to wait before the door slid open and Spock entered.

“Good evening, Leonard. I trust the ambient temperature is to your liking.”

“Er, I—“ McCoy realised it had been a statement not a question when Spock preceded directly to the bathroom without breaking his stride.

Spock returned quickly from the bathroom clutching a wad of cotton wool pads, several plastic bottles of variously-coloured liquids, and a few other bathroom cabinet oddments to his chest. He pulled a small end table round to the front of the sofa, laid out his products and sat down facing McCoy on his dais. McCoy opened his mouth to ask what was going on and complain about being kept waiting, but Spock silenced him with a raised hand.

Spock picked up a cotton pad from the stack on the table and poured a little liquid from one of the bottles onto it. He recapped the bottle and, looking McCoy in the eye, he parted his lips slightly and dragged the pad slowly across his lower lip, smearing a streak of candy floss pink across his face. McCoy watched as he drew the pad again across his top lip and place it on the table, a pink stain spread on the damp surface of the cotton.

This was the first time, McCoy reflected from his vantage point on the platform, he had ever seen Spock with less-than-perfect makeup. Spock’s makeup was always either immaculate or non-existent, and here he was with that trademark shade of pink lipstick half-removed and smeared out from the corner of his mouth across his cheek. MyCoy felt an urge to hop down off the dais and kiss Spock. He had taken half a step forward before his conscious mind caught up with his intention, earning him a “patience, Leonard,” from Spock, who was now cleaning blue pigment off his eyelids with a fresh pad. 

Eye makeup mostly removed, Spock took yet another pad and applied liquid from a different bottle to it. He leaned back in the cushions, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, striking a casual pose. McCoy watched as Spock wiped green-tinged blusher and foundation from his cheeks, eyes on McCoy’s pink-smeared cock, which twitched involuntarily in response to the attention, as he worked. _How does he do this without a mirror?_ McCoy asked himself, as he watched Spock soak a fourth pad and clean the last traces of makeup from the corners of his mouth, the creases at the sides of his nostrils, and around his eyes. Spock opened a third bottle and poured a blob of thicker, opaque liquid into his cupped palm. He rubbed small circles with his fingers on his face, working the moisturiser into the skin.

Once he was finished with his skin care routine, Spock set aside his cosmetics and rose from the sofa. He approached McCoy and stood in front of the platform.

“You have shown uncharacteristic patience, Leonard.” Spock, said, reaching a hand toward him. McCoy licked his lips and shuffled his feet. Spock’s fingers closed around McCoy’s cock. McCoy squirmed a little in his hot grasp, grumbling about being treated like an object. Spock gently admonished him, stretching the skin of McCoy’s cock this way and that with the pad of his thumb as he inspected the remains of the lipstick. For the sake of appearances McCoy rolled his eyes at Spock’s fastidiousness, despite his enjoyment of the touch. “Congratulations.” Spock released McCoy from his grasp. “You kept my mark intact.” McCoy’s hardening cock gave another involuntary twitch and he felt his cheeks reddening.

Spock turned back to the table and poured liquid from one of the bottles onto a fresh cotton pad. He returned to McCoy again and took hold of his cock once more. “This may be a little cold,” he warned, and wiped the pad down the length of McCoy’s cock, removing the stripe of lipstick he had put there that morning. McCoy shivered as the slight breeze from the ventilation system hit his wet, slightly oily skin, breathing a deep breath of the faint aroma of the chamomile scented cleanser. Spock worked slowly and diligently, removing every last trace of lipstick from McCoy’s cock, thighs, and pubic hair, tutting his disapproval when McCoy tried to relieve his mounting frustration by thrusting into his hand. Using a cotton bud dipped in the cleanser, Spock cleaned away the last of the lipstick from the crease at the top of McCoy’s thigh and turned once more back to the table, where he set to tidying his tools. Erection now throbbing urgently, McCoy bounced on the balls of his feet and hummed to himself while he waited.

“Patience, patience,” Spock chided, pouring the cleanser directly onto his hand. “I promised you a reward and you shall have one.” He turned back to McCoy, stepped up onto the dais and, pressing himself close to the human’s side, took his cock once more in his cleanser-slicked hand. McCoy groaned and thrust into his grasp, the oil component of the cleanser providing just enough slick to make the drag of skin against skin bearable. He could feel Spock’s lips tickle his ear as Spock murmured words of praise at his success in keeping Spock’s mark on him, and his patience in waiting for Spock to remove his own—and McCoy’s—makeup. Spock slid his thumb over McCoy’s slit, slicking his precum over the tip of his cock, and McCoy groaned louder, eyes rolling back in his head.


End file.
